Dragonfire
by Yatzstar
Summary: The dragon seeks his princess, who dares to stop him? A series of Smaug!Lock/Molly (Smaugolly?) oneshots, based off scenes from BBCs Jekyll.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Alright, I tried to make the pacing as fast as possible to go along with the swiftness of the actual scene, but I didn't do too great -_- For those familiar with Jekyll, I replaced Benjamin with Baskerville, Jackman with Sherlock, and Eddie with Molly. Please be gentle with your flames! :D_**

_"__Majesty."_

Sherlock instinctively dropped the phone on the dusty ground of the zoo. Moments ago, he had been talking to John, then the rumbling baritone had invaded.

The detective stood next to the lion's pen, staring at his phone as though it was a fierce snake that might try to lash out at him. He crept forwards, scooping it up.

"How can you be phoning me?" Sherlock demanded.

_"__I'm not phoning you, I'm in your head." _Smaug rumbled. Sherlock took the phone from his ear, and gazed at the lions, who prowled through the worn grass of their pen and roared.

_"__Keep the phone at your ear!" _Smaug chided. _"Or people will think we're schitzo."_

"What, schitzo, do you think?" Sherlock growled, anger rising in him. "I've just taken a call from my own head!"

The detective turned in a circle absently, not noticing the three men who were watching him carefully from a little ways off, on the other side of a chain-link gate.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Sherlock asked, sitting on the bench.

_"__There's something in our bloodstream keeping me awake," _Smaug sounded mystified. _"Something new. A drug. Ooh, tickles!"_

"You can feel your blood?" Sherlock asked incredulously.

_"__You can't do that?" _Smaug sounded like he might be frowning.

"Who drugged us?" Sherlock demanded.

_"__That's not why I called." _Smaug growled.

"You had a reason?" Sherlock said, tightening his grip on the phone.

_"__I'm your dark side." _Smaug rumbled. _"It's not like we chat."_

An image suddenly flashed in front of Sherlock's eyes—three tall men in black.

"What was that?" The detective demanded.

_"__Pulled it from your memory." _Smaug said. _"Who are those guys?"_

"Which guys?" Sherlock asked.

_"__Those guys." _The image flashed again—a huge, broad-shouldered man in a dark suit.

"How do you do that?!" Sherlock demanded.

_"__You can't do that?!" _Smaug said incredulously. Sherlock envisioned the men again.

"They're following me," The black-haired detective realized.

_"__Not you." _Smaug rumbled.

Sherlock saw the men, and then…a rather short, brown-haired woman. The same one he had visited the zoo with.

"Molly!" He gasped.

_"__Yes," _Smaug hissed. Sherlock heard Molly's voice, crying out.

"You said he was dead! You told me that was what happened!" She cried. "Sherlock! SHERLOCK!"

"Stop doing that!" Sherlock fairly shouted "Stop it with the voice!"

"Sherlock!"

_"__I have stopped." _Smaug growled.

"Sherlock! Help me, Sherlock!" Molly cried again. The detective slowly turned, looking into the lion's pen. There, in the middle of the worn grass, was his pathologist. Her eyes were full of terror, and she was unable to keep the whimpers of fear from escaping her as the huge male lion regarded her.

Sherlock looked about wildly for help, but the zoo had suddenly become deserted.

"Molly?" He managed.

"Sherlock, help me!" She squeaked.

"Molly, stay there! Don't move!" Sherlock ordered, putting his phone away. Molly had lowered herself instinctively, though she was trembling all over as the lion roared not four yards from her. Sherlock ran to the chain-link gate, and gripped it as he shouted at the black-clad men.

"My Molly's in there! She's in there with the lions, we've got to get her out!" He yelled. The men ignored him.

"My Molly's in there! Please, you've got to help!" Sherlock cried desperately. The big broad-shouldered man turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Wh—wh—what do you want?!" Sherlock shouted, rattling the gate. "Who are you? What do you want?"

_"__Me." _Smaug rumbled, as Sherlock turned to try and save Molly himself. _"They want me."_

Sherlock whirled, and slammed against the fence again.

"Alright, take me, take him, take Smaug, whatever you want, just get my Molly out of there!" He shouted.

_"__At least they took the mousy one," _Smaug commented. _"That shows consideration."_

"Molly!" Sherlock cried desperately, whirling and racing to the edge of the lion's pen. The pathologist was trembling so hard she could hardly stand, as Sherlock bounded up onto the fence. The pen border was about fifteen feet high, with small squares of wire that were not designed to be climbed on. Sherlock tore off his Belstaff, tossing it aside and trying to climb in just his black shirt and trousers.

"Molly! It's alright, Molly!" He cried, pure, primal fear and desperation coursing through his veins as he clamored up the fence. The lion circled, growling and roaring as it decided whether or not to kill Molly.

"Sherlock, hurry!" Molly shouted, shifting in small circles to keep the lion as far from herself as possible. Sherlock hauled himself to the top, feet scrabbling against the metal as the lion roared and prepared to lunge. Adrenaline coursed through the detective's veins like fire as Molly backed away from the king of beasts.

The lion was mere meters away from the pathologist, when a black blur hit the ground in front of her. She jumped back with a yelp, as a primal roar sounded, and Sherlock—at least, it used to be Sherlock—bared his teeth, mouth open impossibly wide to vent his fury at the beast.

Outside, the broad-shouldered man raced towards a black van, flinging open the back door and clamoring in, as the feral roars continued to echo from the lion's den.

"Has he changed?" Demanded one of two other people in the van. The broad-shouldered man shook his head.

"I don't know, Mr. Baskerville!" He reported.

"I take total responsibility for any mistakes today, which means I _fire everybody!" _Henry Baskerville shouted. "You said this would work Christopher, has he changed?!"

Before Christopher could answer, there was a massive _thud, _like something heavy landing on the roof of the van.

"What in blazes was that?" Demanded Baskerville. Christopher looked out the back, and swore quietly. A tan, furry tail hung down from the roof.

The three climbed out, the sight eliciting several oaths as they beheld the body of the male lion splayed on the roof of the van.

"Okay," Baskerville said, "I'm going out on a limb here. He's changed."

The man frowned as song floated from the lion's pen.

"What's he doing?" Christopher wondered, as the lyrics reached their ears.

_"__In the jungle, the mighty jungle,_

_The lion sleeps tonight,_

_In the jungle, the quiet jungle,_

_The lion sleeps tonight…"_

"He just threw a lion over a wall," Baskerville reminded him. "Anything he wants. Give it up for a gutsy song choice."

"There's a note!" The third assistant noticed. "There's a note on the lion!"

Baskerville noted the piece of paper wedged between the beast's toes.

"Well?" He demanded. The assistant glanced at him fearfully.

"Get the note from the lion!" Baskerville ordered. The assistant reached up and swiftly snatched the paper from the beast, who he feared might not be completely dead.

"It's for you!" He said.

"Me?" Demanded Baskerville.

"'Dear Henry, meet me in the lion's den.'" He read.

"You can't be serious," Christopher snorted.

"He just sent a note with a dead lion. How much more serious do you get?" Henry grumbled.

"'P.S. Alone.'" The assistant read.

"Well," Christopher said, "I've got several clear lines of sight. I'll get my best shots on him."

"Don't kill him." Baskerville ordered. "Or me. In that order."

Five minutes later, Baskerville nervously opened the metal door and crouched nervously. Smaug was standing with his back to the man on top of the lion's den, while the beasts prowled the ground. Molly had her back pressed to the fence, as far away from the lions—and Smaug—as possible.

Smaug sensed Baskerville's presence, and swung round. His normally combed-back hair was falling in his face, giving him a terrifying look as his amber eyes sparkled through it. Baskerville noted with a chill the blood that soaked Smaug's jaw and neck.

"Ever killed anyone, Henry?" He rumbled, a slight smile on his face.

"Not personally," Henry admitted. "I have people."

"You're missing out," Smaug grinned. "It's like courtship, only there's a winner. Thought you might be here somewhere; do come in."

Henry glanced nervously at the lions, then smiled at Smaug.

"Know what?" He called. "I'm doing fine just here."

"You a bit nervous, Henry?" Smaug inquired, spinning in a circle on his heel.

"Nope, no, not nervous," Henry lied. "Just a little, uh, lion-aware."

"It's not nice to turn down someone's hospitality, Henry," Smaug chided. "I've got my pride."

He snapped his fingers, and the roaring and growling of the lions ceased. The beasts settled comfortably.

"You can control them?" Henry asked in amazement.

"They're just lions! Can't you?" Smaug replied.

Henry stepped tentatively out of the doorway, and slowly stood, watching the lions the whole time, but aside from the odd flick of the tail, none of them moved. He glanced nervously over to where Molly was still standing, silent, with her back pressed to the fence.

"Girl seems a little freaked," He noted.

"Yes, what can you do? Somebody tried to feed her to a lion." Smaug smiled, staring pointedly at Baskerville.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Henry tried to sound sheepish. "It was just an experiment."

The smile faded from Smaug's face, and his pupils dilated to tiny slits.

"A what."

"We wanted to precipitate the change." Henry explained. Smaug's expression remained hard as steel. "According to our understanding, placing a loved one in danger, especially the primal kind of danger—the threat of a savage beast—would create exactly the right chemical conditions to bring us—well, you."

"Why should I care of the girl's in danger?" Smaug asked. "Have you seen how mousy she is?"

"Well, you did just save her life," Henry reminded him.

"No!" Smaug snapped. Then a savage grin spread across his face. "I killed a lion. There's a difference."

Henry shuffled nervously, keep one eye on the lions at all times.

"We know more about your condition than anyone else on earth. Will you help us find out more?" He inquired. Smaug quirked an eyebrow.

"What if I say no?"

"People don't say no to us, Smaug." Baskerville smiled. "Not even you. I mean, sure, you can kill a lion with your bare hands, but when it really comes down to it, we can buy the whole zoo."

Smaug regarded Baskerville coldly, not answering.

"Give me an answer, Smaug." Henry ordered.

Outside, Christopher looked up as another thud shook the vehicle. As the assistant flung open the doors, he spoke into the microphone.

"We've got a man down, Mr. Baskerville is on the roof—"

Before he could finish, something impossibly strong hauled the assistant upwards.

"That's not me on the roof!" Baskerville shouted, as Smaug leaped from the top of the van to grin at Christopher. He slammed the doors in his face, locking the man in.

"Start her up, we're getting out of here!" Christopher shouted at the driver. Before the driver could do anything, the driver's side door was yanked open, and the man wrenched from the vehicle by his shirt front.

"Sorry, Christopher!" Smaug exclaimed, swinging himself into the driver's seat. "Looks like your luck's run out!"

Christopher charged with a yell, but Smaug's fist cracked across his jaw, knocking him out cold.

"My King wants a word with you." Smaug rumbled, before slamming the car door and gunning the engines.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly Hooper hastily threw on her dressing gown and checked her ponytail, as she rolled out of bed. Someone was knocking at her flat door, and she had a good idea of whom. She glanced at the clock and sighed as she padded to the door. It read 3:25 AM.

The woman opened the door to see her black-haired detective standing there. His glowing amber eyes were half-closed, and he had a silly expression on his features as he stepped into her flat and promptly fell on his face.

"What time of night do you call this?" Molly demanded.

-ooo-

_**A/N: It's actually a shame I had to change some of the dialogue in this, because it just works so well. Hyde tends to be very flirty and playful, even when he's about to murder someone, but Smaug is...not, let's leave it at that. So apologies of Smaug seems a little OOC :P**_

Smaug sat at the table, facedown. He sat up with a groan as Molly set a glass of water in front of him.

"Sherlock keeps apologizing for his bad temper," Molly commented. "Doesn't realize he's apparently on four hours sleep and a hangover."

"You should give up on him," Smaug grinned at her. Molly crossed her arms, trying to distract herself from his golden eyes, glaring at her from behind his black hair, which was falling in his face.

"I'm sorry?" She asked.

"He'd never have stayed around you if he liked you," Smaug rumbled. "Know why?"

"I've never had a reason to think about it." Molly lied. Smaug's pupils dilated to tiny slits.

"When Sherlock gets a fancy for someone, I'm it." He told her smugly.

"That's interesting," Molly said, a slight smile playing about her lips. "I've always thought of you as a bit like someone being fancied."

"Oh, yes?" Smaug grinned, taking a sip of water.

"Yeah," Molly replied. "Usually disappointing. Drink all of it."

Smaug made a rumbling noise of amusement as Molly retreated to her room, making sure to lock the door. She doubted it would hold longer than a few seconds against him, but it might buy her enough time to grab the cricket bat she had dug out of her closet and propped next to her nightstand.

The detective set the glass on the table, absently turning it with his fingertips. He glanced back to Molly's room, a slight smile on his lips as he quaffed the last of the drink.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Alright, this chapter was rather hard to write, since the original scene this comes from is where Mr. Hyde and Claire are having an argument about Hyde having sex with so many people. So with me and my standards, I had to change that. So this chapter is about Smaug and Molly arguing about Smaug eating people. Dragons need to eat, don't they? And yes, that is the same Charles from ****_His Last Vow. _****I was going to use John, but then I remembered that Simon, the character I needed to replace, ended up dying in the end. So I picked the next-best villain. Anyway, enjoy! :D**

The first thing Smaug felt was a thick pain in the side of his head. He pushed the feeling aside for Majesty to deal with. He had more important issues right now.

The dragon forced his clouded eyes open, and stared for a moment at the concrete floor, registering the feeling of the cardboard box he was slumped against. He blinked, his gaze moving to see worn flats, the edge of a skirt, and the hem of a low-cut maroon blouse. Smaug managed to focus on that little mousy girl—what was her name? Mandy? No, Molly. Molly Hooper. Yes, that was right.

Mousy Molly Hooper was sitting cross-legged in a chair about two meters away, staring down at him with something like contempt. Her left hand was draped casually across her knee, while in her right, she was absently turning a key with her fingertips.

Smaug's lips curled back, revealing his fangs. He lunged forwards, only to be halted by a sharp jerk on his ankle, and landed on his stomach about a foot from Molly. He whipped around with a snarl to see that he had been cuffed at the ankle to the sturdy metal shelf, probably with Majesty's own handcuffs. He turned back to Molly, feeling the fire rising behind his eyes.

"You foolish dog!" He snarled at her. Molly's expression didn't change. She simply leaned forwards slightly as Smaug swiped at her, his fingertips coming within an inch of her leg, but not touching it.

"Sherlock, I have questions." She stated.

"I'm not Sherlock!" Smaug barked, swiping at her again.

"What? Because you've changed?" Molly demanded. "I don't know what you are. I don't know if you're schitzoid, or a werewolf, or the first man to discover PMT, but yes, you are Sherlock. So—"

She reached down and slapped him, hard. Smaug pushed the stinging pain back into Majesty's part of the brain, and glared at her hotly.

"What do you mean you haven't had a meal in days?" Molly demanded. Smaug laughed harshly.

"You're not serious are you?" The dragon rasped, teeth bared in a contemptuous grin.

"Look at my face." Molly growled.

"I am not your Sherlock!"

"You're Sherlock Holmes!"

"No!" Smaug told her smugly. "We just share a brain!"

"Yeah!" Molly agreed. "And it's mine."

Alright, thought the pathologist, that last part might be a tiny fib, but what did the dragon know?

"How many?" Molly asked.

"How many what?"

"Men, women, little children, how many?"

"I don't know!" Smaug laughed.

"You don't know?!" Molly repeated incredulously.

"I am not courting you!" Smaug barked.

"Yes, you are!" Molly fairly shouted, hoping the dragon didn't know that Sherlock was most certainly not courting her. "Get used to it!"

Her hand cracked sharply across the dragon's marble-like features for a second time.

"How many?!" The pathologist demanded again. She stood, as Smaug clamored to his feet. The drake regarded her through his hanging black hair.

"I eat. I go out. I eat. I do not count." He rumbled in satisfaction, his face inches from Molly's. He felt a flicker of amusement at her slight gasp of horror.

"What kind of animal are you?" She growled.

"Well, perhaps if Mr. Holmes was getting any, I would not always wake up absolutely starving!" Smaug told her, stepping back and smiling slightly.

"I try." Molly gritted. "He's so emotionless. He won't let me near him."

"He cannot, he is afraid he will turn into me." Smaug rumbled smugly.

"Would he?" Molly asked.

"What if he did?" Smaug grinned.

"Why would I turn him into you?" Molly inquired. The grin faded from Smaug's face, and he stepped forwards, the cuffs rattling as his eyes glowed with a primal light.

"Oh Miss Hooper, you would turn any man into me." He growled. Molly didn't know whether or not to take that as a compliment.

"Are you flirting with me? Don't flirt with me!" She snapped.

"Oh, listen to her, I was your courter a minute ago!" Smaug huffed in mock exasperation.

"You're a monster!" Molly cried. "Why do you have to go out eating everything in sight?! And why didn't you tell me about this?"

"I am telling you!" Smaug said sweetly.

"The other you." Molly clenched her fists angrily. "The real you."

"I _am _the real me!" Smaug snarled, so fiercely that Molly took a step back. The two stood in a stand-off for a few moments, before Molly plucked up her guts and put on a brave face. She stepped forwards, putting her face within inches of his glowing amber eyes.

"I spend an entire evening with you." She told him. "You chatted with my friends. _Our _friends. Why should I be afraid of you?"

"Because I am not your courter, Miss Hooper, and I do not know when to stop." Smaug growled darkly.

Molly decided to change the subjects before things got out of hand.

"Do you have his memories?" She asked. "I can see differences in you. Hair, jaw, height."

Smaug's expression became far away.

"No." He rumbled absently. "Some of them. Bits and pieces sometimes. Places, and faces…"

His expression became alert, once more. His gaze flicked about the room, taking in details, analyzing them.

"I think his name is Charles; this is his house." He stated, glancing down at the unconscious man who had lain ignored several meters away.

"That's right," Molly told him.

"You're in his house." Smaug growled, eyes alight with gold fire.

"Yes, I'm in his house," Molly agreed, slightly confused.

"In that skirt!" Smaug roared. Molly finally realized what he was thinking.

"Charles is a friend; he doesn't think of me that way." Molly huffed, stepping back.

"And what were you thinking?!" Smaug demanded.

"What was I thinking?" Molly repeated incredulously. "While you were out devouring half of London?!"

"I'm not your courter!" Smaug shouted as he bared his fangs, wanting to shred that tiny little human.

"Then why are you jealous?" Molly inquired, head tilted slightly.

Just then, the lights flickered, causing both beings to glance up.

"Every time the light flickers, you look at it like it means something." Molly noted.

"You're quick," Smaug growled, distracted. "He's trying to wake up. I believe he can hear your voice."

"I want to talk to him!" Molly cried.

"He's not strong enough to come through…" Smaug said, as the lights dimmed and brightened. Suddenly his head fell forwards, then almost instantaneously jerked upright again. Molly almost sobbed with relief as she saw her detective's wide blue eyes and curly hair.

"Sherlock!" She gasped.

"Listen, there's no time!" Sherlock sounded panicked. "Charles is one of them! You can't trust him! You've got to—"

His head fell forward again, and Molly exclaimed,

"Got to what?! What do you mean?"

Then Smaug's strong hand seized her by the throat, slamming her against the wall so hard it knocked the wind from her.

"Foolish Miss Hooper!" Smaug snarled in her face.

"Don't call me foolish!" Molly shot back. She slammed her knee into his groin, eliciting a hiss and the loosening of the dragon's grip. She ducked under his arm, but tripped over the cuffs and fell heavily on her side. Smaug snatched up the discarded knife from earlier that evening, and glared at her with pure fury. Before Molly could scramble away, he had leaped forwards, scrabbling awkwardly with the chain, seized her arm, and hauled her upright.

Molly found herself once again crushed against the wall, trapped between the cold stone and the furnace-like body heat of the dragon. Then she felt the frigid steel against the side of her neck.

"I am going to need that key."


End file.
